Morning broke through Manila's gray haze — sunlight sliding past tangled power lines, catching puddles left by last night's rain.
The bridge looked quieter now, the echoes of laughter and bouncing rubber replaced by the whine of jeepneys and the smell of fried garlic rice.
Teo stood with Riki and Bong beside a rusted tricycle, holding a brown envelope.
Bong squinted at it.
"Bro, what's that? Looks serious."
"Transfer papers," Teo said.
He didn't sound thrilled — more like someone drafted into a war he didn't sign up for.
Riki grinned. "You're finally going to school with real floors, huh?"
Bong leaned against the trike. "I don't trust floors that shiny. You can't dive for the ball without seeing your reflection judging you."
Teo didn't answer. He just looked down at the folded forms — stamped, signed, and smelling faintly of ink and stress.
He still couldn't believe it.
Thea Cruz — clipboard girl — had really done it.
Scholarships. Partial. Conditional.
All for a team that didn't even officially exist yet.
Scene: The Admin Office
The college's administration building was the opposite of the bridge — air-conditioned, echo-free, and painfully polite.
The three of them shuffled inside, their shirts damp from the walk. Security at the door eyed them warily.
"Excuse me," the guard said, blocking their way, "delivery's at the side entrance."
Riki blinked. "Delivery?"
"Water jugs, right?" the guard asked, pointing at the bag Teo was carrying.
Bong whispered, "Bro… they think we're the refill guys."
Teo dead-panned, "We could be. Got the height for it."
Riki grinned. "Nah, we're here to deliver buckets — on the court."
The guard frowned but waved them through anyway, shaking his head.
Inside, the bored clerk behind the counter barely looked up. "Name?"
Riki leaned forward. "Riki Dela Peña. Future MVP, part-time miracle."
"Course?"
Riki blinked. "Basketball?"
Bong coughed to cover the silence. "He means… under scholarship. Athletic program."
The clerk flipped through a folder, unimpressed. "You're not on the list."
Riki smirked. "Not yet."
From the back, a voice called out.
"They're with me!"
Thea Cruz appeared, clipboard in hand, sneakers squeaking on polished tiles. She looked like she hadn't slept — hair slightly frizzed, eyes too awake.
"Sorry, ma'am," she said quickly. "New athletic recruits. Coach Alvarez already approved."
The clerk raised an eyebrow. "Approved this morning?"
"Approved in spirit," Thea replied, smiling like it was legal.
Riki leaned toward Bong. "I like her style."
The clerk sighed, stamped the forms. "Fine. But if the coach complains — "
"He won't," Thea promised, snatching the papers before Teo could change his mind.
They stepped into the hallway — colder, cleaner, too quiet.
Bong whispered, "So we're really in?"
Thea nodded. "You're officially on probationary scholarship. Which means —"
Riki cut in, grinning. "— we get to play ball in a covered court for free?"
Thea blinked. "No. It means if you lose once, you're out."
Bong froze. "Like… 'out' out?"
"Out of the team," Thea clarified. "And possibly the school."
Riki laughed. "Pressure makes rhythm, Thea."
"Pressure makes dropouts," she muttered.
Scene: The Gym
The old gym smelled like varnish and old victories.
Wood floors, wide windows, faded banners — names of champions long gone.
A coach's whistle echoed from the far side, where a handful of varsity players were stretching, curious eyes on the newcomers.
Thea waved. "Coach Alvarez! Got your new recruits!"
The coach turned — tall, balding, with a whistle that looked older than the court itself. His brows knit immediately.
"New recruits? Thea, we already filled our roster."
"Temporary additions," she said quickly. "Supplementary. Testing chemistry."
Coach Alvarez looked them over — one barefoot (Riki), one too tall (Teo), one visibly unsure where to stand (Bong).
"Which one of them knows how to play organized basketball?"
None of them raised a hand.
"They… improvise," Thea said.
Riki grinned. "We play by rhythm, coach."
Alvarez sighed. "And you think rhythm wins games?"
"It might," Thea said. "If we call it the right way."
He rubbed his temples. "Fine. One scrimmage. But if they break anything — "
Bong raised a hand. "Define 'anything.'"
Scene: Scrimmage Begins
Half-court.
Drei stood waiting, spinning the ball. Kio and Jax flanked him — varsity regulars.
Riki, Teo, and Bong lined up opposite — a mismatched trio with no plan except motion.
The whistle blew.
Chaos.
Riki's dribbles too fast, Teo's passes too strong, Bong's spacing nonexistent.
Drei scored easy. Kio laughed. Jax talked trash.
Then Riki started grinning. "Alright, alright… let's make this feel like home."
He called plays by rhythm, not numbers.
"Two-beat cut! One-drop swing!"
It made zero sense — but somehow it worked.
Teo's reach secured rebounds.
Bong faked out Jax purely by accident.
Riki ghosted through gaps like he owned them.
Then — one perfect beat.
A lob.
A step.
A jump.
Teo hammered it down.
The gym froze.
Even Coach Alvarez whistled softly.
Riki landed, grinning. "See? Told you he's not just tall."
Thea raised her clipboard like a trophy. "Flowstate!" she yelled.
Everyone turned.
She blinked. "Uh. Team name. Just thinking out loud."
Coach Alvarez looked at her. "You naming them already?"
"Only if they win," she said.
Scene: Aftermath
The scrimmage ended with sweat, laughter, disbelief.
Teo sat on the bench, towel over his head, still processing.
Riki was already chatting up half the team.
Bong somehow had two Gatorades from the cooler.
Thea approached, smiling. "Congratulations. You're officially the strangest, most promising disaster I've ever seen."
Riki saluted her with a towel. "That's our brand."
Teo finally looked up. "So what now?"
Thea smiled. "Now? You learn to play like you've known each other your whole lives."
Bong groaned. "That sounds like work."
Riki smirked. "That sounds like flow."
Thea turned toward the court — lights humming faintly, echoes lingering.
The future was messy, unpredictable, but awake.
And as she watched the three of them — bridge kids now standing under gym lights — she whispered:
"Let's see if this really works."
(This was it — their first real team. The bridge kids were now Flowstate.)
End of Chapter 7 — Transfer Papers